Force of Habit
by Jammeke
Summary: A simple gesture of friendship turns into something far more meaningful when Guy of Gisborne's right hand man Allan A Dale decides to help Marian and Robin out one last time.


**Title:** Force of Habit

**Rating:** K+

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show, the characters, the concept – or even the words for that matter. I merely own the order in which they were written.

**Characters:** Allan, Guy (mention of Robin and Marian).

**Summary:** A simple gesture of friendship turns into something far more meaningful when former member of the gang and Guy of Gisborne's right hand man Allan A Dale decides to help Marian and Robin out one last time.

**A/N:** Written for the **missing scenes / postscript contest** on the **Robin Hood Fan Community**.

This scene is "missing" from episode 2x07 (_Show me the Money_). It takes place after Robin and Marian make their grand escape through her bedroom window. _Someone_ had to notice the mess they left behind. And _someone_ had to make sure no one else found out. This scene is my explanation for the lack of raised eyebrows around the castle after Marian's departure.

**Force of Habit**

_**- NOTTINGHAM CASTLE**__** - **_

Allan sauntered through the dimly lit corridor, his hand in his pockets and his gaze fixed firmly gaze on the ground beneath his feet. He didn't like what he was going to do. He _had_ to do it, of course and obviously, he _was _going to do it . . . but Allan A Dale didn't do emotions well. And he knew he was in for the mother of all emotional scenes.

Marian had stopped Robin from killing him earlier today, so he knew he probably owed her his condou– condoleas . . . _condolences_. Lifesaving aside, Marian was an all right lass and she and her father had always done their best to help the outlaws when they needed assistance. Their support made him want to say something to Marian – if only to honor her good father.

He came to a halt in front of the door to her chamber, reached out, hesitated and then knocked.

Nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked again. She probably didn't want to talk, but if he wasn't going to say this right now, he might as well shut up for the rest of his life. What good was an "I'm sorry for your loss" weeks after the tragic event had taken place? Probably no good at all.

"Maz, it's me, Allan," he tried.

No response.

"Look, if you want me to go away . . ." he began, waiting for Marian to interrupt him. Cry at him. Plead with him. Something. _Anything_.

Silence.

Allan frowned. Could she be sleeping? She hadn't drunk herself to sleep, had she? No, Marian would never do that. But then why wasn't she answering her door? Better yet, why wasn't she screaming at him to leave her alone?

She was in her room; Gisborne had told him this before he'd stormed off to his own quarters to sulk or break something valuable, which would undoubtedly lead to more sulking later on. Could it be that Marian had cried herself to sleep? That possibility seemed more likely.

Quietly whistling an innocent tune, Allan put his hand on the handle and pulled. The handle gave – and the door slid open.

Oh.

He'd expected the door to be locked, really, so he should probably just close the door right now and . . .

Before he could stop himself, Allan took a step forward and peeked into Marian's chamber. Well, he could hardly be of any help to the woman if he couldn't see her, right?

She wasn't on the bed. Sticking his head around the door, Allan did a quick survey of the room – and saw no one. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to tell him where or when –

_Oh. _

So maybe she'd left a clue after all. A pretty big one by the looks of it. There was a gaping hole in the horn plate in front of the window. And if that wasn't reason enough to raise an eyebrow or two, Marian's curtain was pulled taut over the edge of the window–sill as well. One end of the cloth was tied to the bedpost; the other went right through the window.

Cursing, Allan ran over to the sill and looked down.

The cloth didn't exactly behave like he'd expected it to; unlike laundry hung out to dry in the sunlight, it didn't blow in the wind. In fact, it wasn't flapping or moving at all. And he could see why it wasn't; it was tied to the ground with – was that? No . . . really?

Allan groaned.

Shaking his head, he grabbed the curtain and pulled. The cloth didn't give at first; whoever had fired the arrow – and Allan _knew_ who had and suddenly wished he'd thrown the man into that vat of boiling pitch after all – had made sure the cloth was effectively pinned to the ground. That just figured. Helping the infamous outlaw had never been particularly easy when he was still a member of his gang, why would it be any less difficult now?

Refusing to give in to the piece of cloth – because really, who was stronger? Allan A Dale or a curtain? – Allan pulled harder and harder, groaning with the effort. He was practically heaving when the cloth finally came loose. The thief staggered backwards and unceremoniously crashed into Marian's wooden closet. Wincing, Allan rubbed his lower back and cursed his former leader and whoever had put the closet in that particular spot out loud.

As he pulled the lower half of the curtain through the window, Allan tried not to think of the consequences should he be discovered in Marian's room with a ragged curtain in his hands. The broken plate in front of the window seemed to have made it its personal mission to point out _exactly_ how Marian had gotten away from the Sheriff and Gisborne – and that _really_ didn't help to put the master thief's overanalyzing mind at rest.

He had to get out of here.

Realizing he would never get a cloth this large out of the castle without encountering a few raised eyebrows along the way, Allan opened the offensive closet and stuffed the curtain inside. This would have to do for now. He could only do so much for Marian. Besides, she'd saved his life, which probably meant she didn't want him to get himself executed.

The broken window was another matter. There wasn't much he could do about that. Except . . . Allan bit his lip. He couldn't magically mend the material or make the fallen pieces re–appear, but he _could_ draw the attention away from the ragged board by making the suspicious looking remaining pieces of horn disappear as well.

Firmly holding onto Marian's desk chair with both hands, Allan moved to stand directly in front of the window. With his tongue between his teeth, he slammed the object into what remained of the horn plate. As the shattered pieces fell down along the tower wall, he realized he had to collect the broken pieces before anyone saw them. Might as well get rid of the arrow, too, while he was at it.

If he was going to get rid of the rest of the evidence, he would need to be quick, for he liked to think he knew the man he worked for and it obviously wouldn't take Guy of Gisborne long to discover Marian had left the castle. Allan put the chair in place and quickly left the room, closing the door shut behind him. Now all he had to do was go down the tower and retrieve the –

"Allan?"

Startled, Allan spun around and came face to face with . . . Guy of Gisborne.

"Giz," he managed. "Fancy seeing you here."

Gisborne raised an eyebrow at his cheeky greeting and opened his mouth to respond, only to close it again and stare at the door behind Allan's back. He seemed to have more important matters to deal with the moment. Of course, Allan thought wryly. The man's first priority was Marian. He'd come to visit her, comfort her, offer her a shoulder to cry on probably.

If only he knew . . .

"She's not, er, answering the door," Allan said hastily, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

Guy sniffed. "She will. She has to. Marian," he said, raising his voice. Without sparing Allan a second glance, the man in leather side–stepped his right hand man, who took this as his cue to leave.

"So . . . er, good luck and all that," Allan said, knowing full well Guy wasn't paying attention to him anymore.

The thief walked over to the far end of the corridor as calmly as he could and practically threw himself around the corner. Only when he noticed Guy wasn't calling after him did he allow himself to draw in a deep breath.

Now all he could do was gather the fragments at the bottom of the tower and get rid of Robin's arrow. After that, it was all up to them. He was done cleaning up their messes. Allan wasn't going to save their hides again. He no longer had to – and obviously _wouldn't_ – risk his life or position to save Robin and the others.

Ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that told him otherwise, Allan skidded down the stairs and made his way out of the castle. Outside the castle walls, outside the Sheriff and Gisborne's stronghold, in the streets of Nottingham, the town he now roamed as a good citizen, Robin's familiar looking arrow awaited him.

– **end of scene –**


End file.
